


Lionheart

by Eicinic



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (hints of: sexual content, Bittersweet, Existentialism, F/M, Lionhearted (adj) figurative: brave., Mild Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, healing), rawness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eicinic/pseuds/Eicinic
Summary: He’s still avoiding her eyes, as if trying to not give away how he feels, though she can tell by the way his shoulders are slumping. Even if the mask conceals most of their expressions, Chat’s body has always been  a language on its own.His voice is a broken whisper when he asks will you stayAnd Marinette’s hasn’t ever been as unwavering: I’m here.





	

 

 

"You are so brave and quiet I forget you’re suffering.”

⏤ERNEST HEMINGWAY

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Please Tikki”, her voice was _empty_ . “ _Please”_. The kwami stopped fidgeting in the air.

“Marinette _I can’t._ I can’t. There’s nothing I can d

“Stay here, please stay here with him, please heal him. Please Tikki, please heal him, I’m sorry”.

 _I’m sorry,_ she said, and it was all it took for her voice to crack and the high sob pass through her lips. Suddenly she’s clutching the blond head against her small shaking frame as tightly as she dares to, choking on _I’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry_ that ends up becoming an asphyxiated cry as her throat makes the effort of spitting out the words, opening holes in the remainings of her heart. She doesn’t feel anything but the pain of her chest as the sobs turn into dry heaving and she has to leave Chat’s head on the ground and crawl far from him in fear of throwing up. Her whole body is convulsing so painfully her lungs are burning, bringing more tears to her eyes. _I’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry_

But she knows it won’t do.

She can’t fix this.

This : her mistake.

There is a quiet beep in the room and she forces down the next lump in her throat, shaking so violently she needs a minute before she can come back to him. Taking her tshirt off to cover half of his face with it, she leaves only his nose and mouth uncovered. Her hands fumble around her small purse until she manages to hold her phone out, so tight her knuckles are white and her fingers protest with the effort of keeping her hands still. She dials the number and waits.

“Marinette?” She hears some shouts in the background calling for quiet before the voice is back to her again: “It’s so weird you’re calling!! Is everything okay at home?”

“Hi, aunt”, she manages, darting her eyes to the ground for the sake of her voice remaining collected. She’s sweating cold, there is a sharp pang in the pit of her stomach threatening with spilling her own organs out. Her chest hurts so much she can barely breathe. “I’m writing an essay for school would you mind answering some questions? I have to hand this in tomorrow morning”.

“Oh, sure thing!”

“What’s the first thing you should do when you see an accident? After calling the paramedics”.

“You must not move those involved in the accident, unless it’s an explicit emergency. If you move them you could trigger more damage that wasn’t there in the first place. If someone starts convulsing you have to turn them to their side and make sure they don’t choke on  their own tongue.”

“What if you can’t call the paramedics or they are too far away? How could you check for any injuries?”

“First goes the head” she replied, the sound of a chair being dragged on the floor muffling her voice for a second. “If you have any light with you, point it at one of their eyes and then the other. If the pupils contract, there’s not any bleeding inside their brain, but it doesn’t guarantee there won’t be later. Once they wake up, ask them some questions, who they are, where they are, what day it is. If they’re conscious you can pinch the tip of their fingers and toes to make sure there’s no severe damage to their spine or brain, but some injuries can’t be checked without medical support”. There is a short beep in the distance, Marinette closes her eyes and prays, still trembling so violently she has to press the phone between her head and shoulder, to make sure it doesn’t fall. “Check on the ribs, just slid your fingers along each one of them to make sure you don’t spot a crack. If there’s a crack there’s risk of a perforation in their lung.”

“Is there… anything else?” She asked with small voice.

“I don’t think there’s much more you can do without the necessary tools. You can check for broken bones, swollen, hardened parts, but you won’t really notice if there is any inner bleeding, damaged organs, veins or arteries. Well if there was a damaged artery sure as hell they’d be already dead”.

“What should I do if their heart stops beating?”

She proceeded to explain her shortly and straightforward the process of a CPR, which she memorized, ignoring the fear that made her whole body numb. She had her free hand over Chat’s chest, making sure his heart was beating. It was there. Slow and reassuring, a contrast with the urgent beep of his miraculous.

“What can I do if they can’t breathe?”

“That’s not something you can fix” she replied, “or at least you can’t without the proper knowledge. Trying it would be very hard and you could take their life”.

“If they are dying might as well give it a shot?” She offered, voice low and cracking. She tried to dismiss it with a forced chuckle.

Her aunt explained then two ways of keeping a person alive, one if their lung was bored by a rib, and the other if they couldn’t breathe through their nose or mouth. Both of them involved stabbing an empty pen in the person’s body and as Marinette’s face grew even paler than before, she knew there was no chance she could do that.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No. Thank you, aunt. I’ll let you know how it went”.

“I can drop by tomorrow and hand you some books? They were very helpful to me back then when I was still studying”. Marinette was no fool. If she chose to bring Chat to an old abandoned attic above a solitary, deserted house at the nearbies of the city, it was to protect his identity. She couldn’t just bring him inside the hospital and expect people to respect his secret. Even if Chat didn’t have any severe damage he could have in the next days… She needed to know what to do. She had to take care of him. She had to amend her mistake, please let her amend her mistake… She barely replied:

“Thank you so much. I have to leave now, mom’s calling. I’ll say hi to her”.

The last beep echoed in the empty room, there was a sudden flash of light and the rush of a black thing, flying straight to Marinette’s face to collide with her, if not for Tikki’s fast intervention.

“YOU QUEAN!” Shouted the god, struggling to break free from Tikki’s grasp. She was mumbling something, but Marinette couldn’t hear it over the screeches of the dark kwami, throwing insults with those sharp, terrible green eyes fixated on her like a sentence. She could barely hold back the new lump in her throat as her fingers clutched over the white dress shirt the boy behind Chat’s mask was wearing.

“Is he dying?” She finally choked out, slapping a hand over her mouth quickly and turning on her knees so fast her jeans and skin ripped. She opted to clutch at his wrist when she crawled back, dry heaving again but still feeling his agonizing slow pulse.

“PLAGG, ENOUGH!” Tikki yelled a fraction of second later, pushing the black kwami backwards so rough both stumbled in the air.

“I BARELY COULD AVOID THE DAMAGE OF HIS ORGANS”

“THIS ISN’T MARINETTE’S FAULT”

“OF COURSE IT IS. **STUPID** ,  **ARROGANT GIRL** ”

“CHAT JUMPED IN FRONT OF THE AKUMA, IT WAS HIS CHOICE”

“CHoice? Choice?” Repeated the kwami, voice rough of utter disbelief, Marinette convulsed so strongly she thought she was dying as her stomach tried to empty the fear constricting it. “Who dragged that imprudent girl over?, who did? **WHO DID?** YOUR LADYBUG BROUGHT HER ALONG, HEREAT IF HE DIDN’T JUMP IN TO TAKE THE BLOW SHE WOULD HAVE DIED. **IS THAT A CHOICE** **?** ”

“You know how Alya is, she was already in the middle of the fight. Marinette tried to take the best out of it. **That’s an _accident_ , not a mistake.” **

**“She. brought. her. along. As far as you might fucking know, _Ladybug killed Chat Noir today_ ”**

The sudden cry of agony bolted the two kwamis in place, whipping their heads around at her. Marinette cried again, bent over her own stomach, peeling off the skin of her face with her nails. Her shaking was so visceral it reached Chat’s body.  

“ **Marinette!** Marinette is okay Marinette he is okay Plagg absorbed most of his damage he is okay _he is going to be okay_ , Marinette, Marinette look at me, he is alive **he is alive** he is going to be. Marinette, today was an accident, you didn’t know this would happen, you didn’t know the yoyo would get crushed in the ruckus…”

“I… dropped it”, she spat the words on all fours, trying to find peace for the burning of her body.

“But because you rushed to help Chat and Alya! Marinette…!”

But Marinette wasn’t listening anymore. She fixated her bloodshot eyes on the black kwami.

“Is he dying”

“No”

“Will he be able to breathe by himself?”

The kwami hesitated for a second, before snapping:

“Not thanks to you”

Marinette nodded, slowly, her gaze empty.

“What about his head?”

“How am I supposed to know? He hit his head _don’t you have eyes on your face? **Didn’t you even watch it?**_ ”

**“ENOUGH”**

There was a disturbance in the air and a sudden pulse threw Marinette rolling onto the floor and Plagg flying across the room until he hit the wall with such force the wood cracked.

Tikki landed on Chat’s shoulder, exhausted. There was a tense silence hanging over the room.

Overcoming the first seconds of confusion, Marinette made her way back to the hero, holding his hand again, not noticing the way her arms were trembling and her whole body was pleading her to pass out. She didn’t comment on the incident. Neither did Plagg, joining them a minute later, purposely ignoring everything that wasn’t Chat’s breath.

Not long after, Marinette’s phone started buzzing crazily. It took all of her strength to tear her eyes off the motionless body to the screen of her phone. His mother was calling.

“Marinette!” Was the shout when she answered. “Alya’s at the hospital! She got involved in an akuma fight!”

Marinette didn’t reply for a long minute. She knew. She had been the one holding both Chat and Alya until the paramedics made their way through the debris to them.

“How is she?” Her voice sounded surprisingly cold and collected, even if hoarse.

“She’s getting surgery right now. I don’t know…”

Marinette locked her eyes on the face covered by her tshirt, and quietly said:

“I will be there as soon as I can. It might take a while, I’m stuck at the other side of the city. I’m okay, the disturbance of the akuma just got in the way.”

“I can send your fath

“No, I’ll handle it. There is just so much traffic and some of the streets are blocked. There are people trapped under the debris. I’m trying to help. There is nothing I can do at the hospital, right?”

Her mother fell silent at the other side of the line. Marinette couldn’t even feel her own heartbeat.

“Okay. Be careful. We’re heading to the hospital now, we’ll wait there for you.”

“Keep me updated”.

Her mother hummed and hung up after another _be careful._ She didn’t really listen. A minute passed.

“Plagg can you transform again?”

The kwami was reluctant when he replied:

“I can’t without his consent”.

“Then hold the flash of the phone into his eyes and tell me if his pupils constrict”.

The kwami did as told without a protest, and confirmed that there wasn’t any apparent damage to his brain.  

Marinette bent over again, bringing his knuckles to her forehead, exhaling air she didn’t know she was holding.

What could she do?

She couldn’t abandon Chat even if the two kwamis stayed with him, could she? What would happen when he woke up? Should she had taken him to the hospital? She could now, as Ladybug, and say she found him trapped under the debris.

“Don’t” the black kwami was stabbing her with those terrifying neon eyes, as if reading her mind. It looked like he was holding a war against himself when he finally hissed: “He can’t be found at any hospital. His father won’t tolerate it. Not only he will lose his freedom, Paris will lose his only hero”.

The certainty in the voice of the god would have wounded her deeper than any other statement if she hadn’t known it was true. It was true _._

She was not worthy of the miraculous.

So she only nodded.  

Tikki made a hurt noise, though. There was so much pain in her blue eyes Plagg couldn’t hold her gaze.

“You’re worse than any disgrace happening to our holders”. It was so plain, and _simple_ it clutched Marinette’s heart. Plagg curled up on himself. “Are you going to trade the life of Chat for his freedom?”

“I can almost guarantee his life is not at any immediate risk right now. I don’t know how long it will take him to snap out of unconsciousness, but he’s not going to die in the following hours. You should leave” he informed Marinette a second later, avoiding looking at her too. “Go check on your friend. If she dies, his sacrifice will be for nothing. Your mistake will cost two lives instead of just one tonight”.

The atmosphere was frozen around them. Marinette didn’t even nod, she didn’t show she had listened to anything at all. She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. Finally, she started to carefully take off Chat’s dress shirt and switched it for her own. She scrambled to her feet and looked at her kwami just once. It was enough for Tikki to know she had to stay with Chat.

“You know my number. Text me from his phone if there’s any change.”

 

* * *

 

She got to the hospital after dropping by her home. Got her school bag ready with two blankets, her laptop, a bottle of water and a pillow she could squash in, two boxes of cookies, a lantern, the biggest tshirt she had and quickly brought all the rotten cheese she could find at the convenience store. If the cashier found strange she was holding five boxes of different fermented cheese, they didn’t comment on it.

She jogged to the hospital, having wasted too much time coming back from the abandoned house. Her knees were wobbling by the time she reached the doors, her stomach so twisted and empty it made her feel light-headed in the worst possible way. Sabine hugged her as she joined them in the fourth floor, examining the scratches across her face, her paleness, her eyes, hugging her harder and muttering into her hair _it’s going to be okay._ She had heard the same sentence so many times along the day it stopped holding any meaning to her. It wasn’t going to be okay because, simply, this was her fault.

And she couldn’t fix it.

She isn’t miraculous, after all.

Alya’s family gathered around her, thanking her for arriving and reassuring her it would be fine, even when it should have been otherwise. Nino was there too, throwing an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her firmly against his side.

“She’s strong” he said, and Marinette knew it was true, and simple, as many other things were. Alya would survive the end of the world… only if there was a Chat Noir sacrificing for her.

Her legs wobbled again and Nino forced her to sit down.

Marinette didn’t deserve any comfort.

Marinette didn’t deserve the pats, the _it’s gonna be okay_ s, the reassuring smiles or glances. She didn’t deserve to step in this hospital like all of this wasn’t her fault because she had been an overconfident

**stupid**

** arrogant girl.  **

Alya had shown up, with her phone in her hand, shouting _I can distract him_ and Marinette had thought

 

_why not_

 

 

 

 

 

> _What could_
> 
> _possibly_
> 
> **_go wrong?_ **

 

They have fought akumas one hundred times. There is nothing she can’t fix once she throws the yoyo in the air and the magic of the miraculous sweeps over the city. How can something go wrong, if _Chat Noir is by her side_ , if _she’s Ladybug_ , and she knows how to do this better than how to be a regular, ordinary person.  

“I hope Chat Noir is okay…”

Her heart rushed, showing it was still alive for the first time in the last three hours. It might have hurt so much she stopped noticing it, though. Wasn’t that aftershock?

“Ladybug’s magic didn’t work this time” interceded a brunette girl, Alya’s younger sister. “Do you know why?”

“Her yoyo got crushed when the building broke down”, replied a person Marinette didn’t recognize.

There was a heavy silence hanging over their heads.

Marinette was livid as the memory replayed in her head like she was there, _again._ She saw the akuma charge against Alya, her own scream deafened by the shout of Chat, who lurched himself in the middle, pointlessly holding up his baton as the akuma impacted on both of them. The item she had been holding in her hands cracked, and the butterfly broke free. _Quick, quick, quick_ she thought, desperately, as she swung the yoyo in the air to trap the butterfly and purify it, getting distracted in the last second by a horrible crack that snapped over the chaos like a thunder. It took her five seconds to understand the building in which they fought the akuma was starting to crumple down.

And then.

 **_Chat_ ** _._

_Alya._

They had both been crushed against the building when the akuma sent them flying, Alya was on the ground, twisted in a strange angle, Chat bored a hole through the wall.

She had never  screeched as high as she did then, willing her body to run, run, run, jumping through the open hole on the wall with a reckless landing, using the impulse of the inertia to grab the motionless body of the hero and drag him to the entry as the ceiling cracked above their heads. Her eyes were burning with the tears of the effort before she could even realize her limbs were raging in fire, dragging both bodies desperately out of reach, running, running, **running**. She couldn’t get far before the whole structure fell and a massive wave of dust and debris hit them. Marinette threw herself over her friends, adrenaline pumping her heart so painfully against her ribcage it felt like a laceration spreading through her flesh.

The dust settled down after a minute and she could breathe oxygen again. It was when she noticed the yoyo wasn’t there.

“Probably he’s at this hospital. The suit is magical, right? He’s surely fine”. Marinette was bought harshly to reality.

“He saved _mi niña_ ” muttered Marlene, hand covering her face. Her husband was rubbing her back, helplessly. “If he’s here I need to thank him I need to thank him I need to th…”

“I’m sure he knows” Marinette’s voice came out broken and soundless, “I’m sure he knows we are thankful”.

By the eleventh time she unlocked her phone, a doctor showed up, mask, gloves and cap still on. Marinette dug her nails deep in her own flesh to refrain the new hurl threatening her stomach. Everyone stood up abruptly. The surgeon looked over them trying to discern who the parents were until Marlene approached him, twisting her hands nervously.

“Everything went okay” reassured the doctor, with an easy smile. “I can’t say her injuries were superficial, but they are not threatening her life anymore. The recovering will be long, but hopefully won’t bring any difficulties. We relocated some bones in place, stitched the wounds and stopped the thoracic hemorrhage. She’s breathing by herself now, she will wake up when the anesthesia fades off. We can’t let anyone in until that happens, though”.

“Oh _Dios mío_ ”, Alya’s mother stuttered, hiding her face behind her hands until her husband locked her in a tight embrace. His face gave away all the gratitude he couldn’t say, to which the doctor just nodded in knowledge and let his smile widen.

Marinette didn’t realize she was being dragged to the bathroom until her mother opened the lid of the toilette and she found herself on her knees, dry heaving again. Sabine held back her hair and rubbed her shoulders soothingly, murmuring over and over again _it’s okay, she’s okay_

 

but Chat wasn’t.

 

Marinette emitted a sound like a screech and doubled over, holding tight the toilette. Sabine rubbed her back, up and down, up and down, up and down. Her throat was on fire by the time her stomach decided to give her a break, burning her insides down instead. She was so weak she couldn’t stand.

Marinette doubted she could hate herself more, but was proved wrong when she had to spit out:

“Mom… I will stay... until Alya’s awake and I’ll go home… There is nothing... I can do here”.

Sabine nodded, pushing the sweaty hair out of her face.

“Go get some rest when you’re there. We won’t bother you”.

Marinette closed her eyes and thanked silently.

 

She and Nino were the last ones entering in the room. Alya looked exhausted and groggy from the morphine, but made the effort to flash them her best smile. Nino rushed to the bed, entwining their hands and rubbing her knuckles.

Marinette stood by her side quietly. If she opened her mouth she would only say _i’m sorry_

And the dam would crack again.

So she opted to listen to Nino ramble about how brave she was- he was, probably, the only one thinking such of her. They overheard Alya’s family scold her for her recklessness. _That’s part of being you,_ Nino said, letting his smile drop a little to the left side, _it’s what makes you a superhero without a mask,_ and Alya started crying. Marinette had the nerve to pull out something resembling a smile and quietly tugged at her foot to let her know she was leaving.

She muttered a quiet farewell to those still gathered in the corridor and made her way out of the hospital. Exhaustion was weighing on her so heavy her steps were drowning in the concrete; Marinette kept walking. She _had_ to go back to the abandoned house. The city was noisy at night, the sounds pitching high every time a car roamed down the street next to her,

**overwhelming**

The world was so overwhelmingly crowded with neons, brightness, noise; the solace of the abandoned house rasped a harsh sigh of relief out of her burning throat. Her knees held her still until she approached the figure on the attic floor.

Marinette reached out with trembling hands to hold Chat’s face, still partially covered by his dress shirt, and her whole body gave up at the same time. She collapsed on the floor, feeling tears she didn’t have anymore strangle her heart so tight it hurt her. It  **hurt**

It hurts please make it stop

please

 _“please”_ was her sob, nosing Chat’s temple through the shirt. _Please, wake up, please, be okay, please, forgive me, please,_

_I’m sorry_

_im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry_

She felt Tikki’s paws on her face before focusing her blurry vision on the kwami. Her expression was gentle, as it had always been: gentle, compassive, patient.

It was what she needed to start breathing again.

“Is he… o-...okay?”

“His condition hasn’t worsened while you were gone.”

“Hey, girl”, snapped Plagg from one side of Chat, “pull yourself together already. You’re scurvy like this.”

The kwami was glaring at her, but he was right, too. She rubbed her face roughly and pushed onto her knees to dig around her bag. She offered Plagg the five different types of cheese and took out the cookies for Tikki.

“You mentioned he has a father” she observed, as she extended the mullid towel on the floor. “We don’t know when Chat will wake up or what we will do… can’t you text a friend to cover for him?”

Plagg seemed thoughtful for a second.

“He was, forsooth, having a sleepover tonight. It’s the first one his father has allowed him ever”. There was an edge to the god’s voice that got Marinette shivering slightly.

“Text his friend and tell him he’s going to crash at his crush’ house”.

“You know his crush is Ladybug don’t you”.

The pain in Marinette’s face was so deep and visceral the kwami averted his eyes.

“Please, Plagg…”

When she was done pulling the blankets out, she moved Chat’s body over the improvised bed. Marinette was fairly sure he didn’t have any rib broken, but she ended up tugging on his black tshirt until it exposed his bare chest and, carefully, ghosted her fingers shaping the edge of his ribs. Her digits wandered down the flat abdomen, absently, following the curve of his navel to the pointy, sharp hip.

The welcoming warmth, his familiar smell, _Chat._

She scooted closer, silently and fearful, still trembling, and inhaled deeply, her face buried on the hero’s flank.

Then, silence.

 

[The world stayed outside their refuge,

 _the one she built for Chat_ ]

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Her eyes drifted outside the window. The sky was starting to brighten, even though the stars were still hanging from its insides, barely oscillating over the pollution of the city. It was a nice sight, yet her eyes came back to that nose whose outline she knew by memory, those lips she wished, _she wished so hard,_ were smiling, _alive._

The last conversation with Plagg had resulted into an exhausting argument about Chat’s identity. It didn’t matter anymore did it? If she looked at the boy behind the mask it wouldn’t make any difference: _Chat was hurt because of her mistake._ However, it wouldn’t be fair on him. It wouldn’t be fair that Ladybug knew Chat’s identity but Chat would never get to know Ladybug’s…

Her gaze wandered along his collarbone, two reefs waiting to ground her eyes.

 

This is the truth: (she’s not worthy of being Ladybug.)

 

She hasn’t talked with Tikki yet, she can’t gather the courage. She failed Alya, Chat, Tikki and, ultimately, herself.

She’s nothing but an arrogant kid playing superheroes. They have fought akumas so many times, she had such _blind_ faith in her abilities, it had driven them to destruction.

Her throat is hoarse of repeating I’m sorry to the empty room.

Vaguely, she hears Plagg ask _what’s with the yoyo?,_ and Tikki mumble _I guess if she transforms again it will appear? It’d be better to ask Master Fu…_ But she’s not going to transform to find out, so Marinette only pushes her face tighter against the fabric covering Chat’s torso. It smells _so familiar_ this is the only way she can swallow down the nausea.

Chat. _Chat, Chat, Chat_

 

“Kid, it’s morning already. Will you go now?”

Marinette obliged to lift her face. Plagg was floating very next to her, big green accusatory eyes perched on the girl’s.

“Plagg…” Tikki’s warning voice went unheard. Marinette tensed for a moment before nodding. She didn’t want to leave his side, but she, also, had no right to be here anymore.

She couldn’t be called partner.

“I’ll be back”. She was talking with Plagg, but her eyes were addressing Chat. She ghosted her fingers along his jawline, _promising it_. Tikki fluttered to her purse, but stopped at Marinette’s voice: “stay with him. Your luck is more needed here”.

“Marinette…” A pause. “Okay, be careful”.

She didn’t have to do much. Turned out Plagg’s favorite cheese was Cambembert, so she arrived to the nearest grocery store in time for its opening. She got the cheese and some more cookies for Tikki before making her way down the street to the heart of the city. Marinette was too weak to jog, but pleaded her legs to walk faster, she _had_ to come back.

Finally, the store appeared in the edge of her vision. If things weren’t so extraordinary right now, buying a mask and cat ears out of a halloween outfit would rather been downright stupid, but as it was, Marinette found almost comforting doing something so ridiculous that could pass per ordinary when the rest of her life wasn’t.

The way back to the abandoned house was faster, her body somewhat snapping awake as the morning drifted by. She didn’t know how much she could push her luck before her parents made their way up to her bedroom only to find she wasn’t there. She should have done better with Alya… But Alya was at the hospital, and Chat wasn’t. This was the right decision; she was making the right decisions, she was making the right decisions, she was mak

The two kwami floated over her. Plagg didn’t say a word about the cheese, but the eager with whom he ate it spoke by itself.

“Could you help me put these on him?”

“I’m not sure… it will work…” But Tikki floated down to Chat’s head. Plagg joined them seconds later.

“I won’t dwell on his face. A mask seems stupid, but it actually works. You’re missing part of the puzzle so the actual picture doesn’t click just right”.

Marinette closed her eyes and tucked away Chat’s dress shirt. Feeling his features without the mask under her fingertips was _so intimate_ her chest felt thick with her own oxygen, heart burning every time it pounded against her ribcage.

The little paws of one of the two gods graced the back of her hand lightly, _it’s okay._

She would have traded this malfunctioning heart for it _to be true_.

Once everything was into place Marinette blinked into full awareness, taking in the sight of the boy’s face. It wasn’t quite _Chat,_ yet it was. This was his tousled hair, and those the edges of a face hitting the end of puberty.

It’s already late in the morning by the time Marinette gathers the strength to unatach her fingers from Chat’s warm skin and get to her feet. Her head is dizzy, spiraling, the pain of the emptiness twisting her stomach mercilessly.

“I’ll be back”, she says again, maybe because saying it out loud will make _it real_. This, the house she’s leaving behind, the body she’s leaving behind, is where she has to be. Chat needs her.

But then,

**no**

_she_ needs Chat.

Her heart sinks further in her chest when her father is at the outside door, eyes fixated on the way she’s trying to hold herself with every step. At least Marinette’s changed her t-shirt, but her eyes speak of a sleepless night. Tom doesn’t say anything, though.

“We’re heading towards the hospital now, will you come?”

“Sure” Marinette rasps out, “will Nino be there too?”

“You call him?”

Marinette did call him. The last thing she needed was Alya concerned about her, as she would, if there wasn’t any other distraction in the room.

“Hey Mari, you ok?” Came through the speaker. She rubbed at her face, recently splashed with cold water, and tried to fix her hair.

“You coming to the hospital?”

“You guys going there now? I still haven’t had my grub”

“I’ll get you some pastries. There are coffee machines there”

“See you in five! I’ll hit Adrien up, I’m not sure he knows about Alya yet”.

Marinette didn’t mention on how it had been over the news almost the 24 hours of the past day. Someone had recorded the moment in which she appeared from the viscera of the cloud of dust, dragging an unconscious Alya and a broken Chat with her. The titular of the newspaper from that morning said _has Paris lost its heroes?_ Marinette’s eyes had trailed off on the title as she tried to gulp down the smallest of the sips of her cup of tea.  

“Once we come back you go to your bed, girl”.

“I’ll stay with Alya, papa” she lied easily, not even looking up at him. Years of lying made it second nature to her.

“Did maman get you some medicine?”

“I’m okay. I haven’t thrown up since yesterday”

“Because you haven’t eaten, have you?”

This time she did lift her eyes. Cold, empty, blue eyes. Didn’t her father understand his concern wasn’t necessary? Didn’t he understand she was undeserving of it?

_Why isn’t Paris dying of worry over Chat Noir_

“I did. I’m okay. Stop pushing me”

In other circumstances she would be hurting at the expression her father made, but this wasn’t another time. This was Marinette, guilty of breaking her friend, of killing Chat Noir, of failing.

Guilty 

of being Ladybug.

(when did the tables turn around so much that she’s the one destroying,

and Chat’s the one always _building_.)

 

The ride to the hospital is unsurprisingly quiet. Nino tried to start small talk, but it fell on deaf ears. The only thing Marinette caught was Adrien’s unanswered calls and it, really, was a thought that stuck and left in the span of a breath.

Nino rubbed reassuringly one of her arms, saying something akin to _Alya’s our bravest girl, she’s gonna make it outta this, just wait and watch,_ and Marinette _knew it,_ but those stitched wounds were counting on her scissors to reopen them. If this happened one time, it will happen a second.

Oh Alya, she’s so sorry.

But her weak smile hides it when the redhead asks for help to be pulled into a sitting position and chirps a tense, overexcited _good morning_ that doesn’t trick anyone. Nino reaches out to hold her hand, and Marinette flutters around quite nervously, not knowing where to stand or what to do until she settles for twisting Alya’s curls into a decent frame around her soft face. She’s pretty even when she’s playing cards with the death and oh, Alya, just how much Marinette loves you. She tells her, voice low and thick, and Alya flashes her best, most sincere smile in gratitude.  

“I bet Dumbreste just slept in today, wanna record a clip for him?” Nino held out his phone, eyebrows high and eyes tantalizing, Alya couldn’t say no. “Yo Adri, we’re at the hospital!” Both Alya and Marinette greeted him, “when you drag your buttocks outta whatever bed you’re sleepin’ in you better treat us to some nice expensive perfect-guy crap to make up for yier laziness and how you ditched me yesterday, dirtwad”. There was a slight sound of smacking, followed by Alya’s giggles at Nino’s yelp. “Our sick pretty lady still loves you enough as to be concerned for your safety”.

“You actually don’t have to buy anything, Adrien”, Alya cut in, big smile in her face. “We’re recording this audio only because Nino’s crush on you is the fourth person in this room with us”.

“It’s not like I would make out with my phone just for Perfect Agreste’s voice”, replied Nino in a humorous offended tone, “except I totally would”.

They kept their back and forth for a couple of minutes, as if things would be _normal_ for including Adrien in their conversation. Marinette’s mind was slipping further away by seconds, to the point she had to make up an excuse to leave. What if Chat awoke and she wasn’t there?

_What if he didn’t wake up_

“Do they allow your phone with you, Alya?”

“Yes! Mom just brought it this morning.”

“I will text you through the day so you don’t die of boredom here”, Marinette forced a light smile. “I need to help my parents with the bakery today.”

“Sure thing” Alya dismissed her with a lazy wave of a hand. She couldn’t hide her disappointment very well, and if Marinette thought her heart couldn’t break further, she was wrong. Nino’s dark eyes were on her, sharp and smart and _peeling her off,_ forcing Marinette to quickly kiss her friend cheek, pat Nino’s arm and rush out of the room.

The tea from that morning was agonizingly twirling her insides, the world blurring in the edges of her vision, her mind dangerously drifting into unconsciousness. That’s how it felt to fight the minutes playing against her, the protest of her own body as she padded to the nearbies of the city, inwardly, silently, constantly, creating a whole religion for this house she called sanctuary, and for this faith in _her_ hero overwhelming her.

Things were this simple: Chat isn’t allowed to die.

And that’s the first thing she managed to say in a broken whisper, hands holding Chat’s face again as if they were shaped to fit there, as if she could just bring him back like this, thumbing the edges of the mask and _praying_ he would wake up.

Tikki was her perpetual, and only anchor during that time to avoid the shipwreck inside her ribs, even though her heart was drowning anyway.

“Maybe you could rest…” Suggested the little kwami, patting her hair delicately. Marinette turned her face away. _She didn’t deserve it._

“He’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay” was the reply, as she bent over her stomach and pressed her lips to Chat’s forehead. It was warm, it was _familiar._ Not as much as his smile, but it might do for the time being.

Chat proved her right, and wrong. The pain Marinette felt when he awoke buried everything else, she _couldn’t breathe._ The whole world weighed on her chest, crushing it, squeezing her lungs, she was _dying inside._ And everything because Chat had opened his eyes, blinked slowly once, twice, turned his head towards her and cleared his throat to say:

_Is Ladybug okay?_

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


Marinette, at nearly 18 years old, thinks she’s lived enough as to feel like novelty turns out to be rather ordinary. She went through near death experiences, through failure, through crushing on an ideal, through saying goodbye, but also saying hello, to building and destroying relationships, to have her heart broken, but also her heart healed, she’s felt misplaced, unwanted, but also belonging, she’s felt how much the world can weigh on human shoulders, she’s cried out of pain, self-pity, fear, disappointment, despair, laughed of embarrassment, joy, hypocrisy. At the end, she’s never felt anything other person wouldn’t in different circumstances. The most primary, feral sensation is a silent companion: hurt. That’s the very first instinct of humanity: we try to dodge the hits, _we survive._

But when Marinette hears him ask, and takes _Her Decision_ , she knows she won’t survive it. There is a part of her that dies in the moment she opens her mouth and replies:

 

**I don’t know.**

 

(Her Decision: Chat deserves _better_.

Better than her.)

 

She places one of her shaking hands over his chest when he attempts to move and asks in broken voice:

“Do you know who you are?”

Chat looks at her in confusion for a few seconds, his dazed mind trying to piece together the situation.

“Chat Noir”, he replies finally.

“What day is today?”

“Friday the 25th of March…? Wh-what happened…?” He seems just now to notice he’s nowhere familiar, and his intense eyes of spring are moving taking in the room faster than what his brain can process. “Marinette…?”

“I’m here”, she says, and her other hand entwines their fingers.

**I’m here.**

“How are you feeling? Does something hurt? Do we… Do I take you… s-somewhere? You got seriously injured”

Chat was blinking up at her, then dropped his gaze to his civilian body. If his face wasn’t pale before it definitely was now, as he raised a hand to his cheek muttering something incomprehensible just to find the mask. Marinette pulled out a weak smile from the very depth of her guts. It strained her face.

“Your kwami helped out covering your identity. I don’t know who you are”.

“Plagg…?”

“I’m here” he replied immediately, swooping over so he was floating right above Chat’s face. There were wrinkles in the god’s brow and muzzle, his eyes shining fiercely, albeit involuntarily.

“Hey now” the hero wheezed out, quiet and cracked, as a tear formed in the kwami’s eyes. Plagg wiped it, irritated, and decides on landing a paw on Chat’s cheek, one, two, three times. _Hitting him._ “I’ll make it... up to you... I’ll buy you a load of... cheese...”

Plagg didn’t reply, because the obvious response was _I don’t want cheese._ The not so obvious but not so subtle one: _I want you to be okay._ But then, lower, _I_ need _you to be okay_ _._

She was pleading it, too.

“Answer the girl, are you in pain? Can you move your body?”

“I don’t kn

his reply is muffled by a pained groan when he actually tries to pull himself up. Both Plagg and Marinette rushed to hold him down.

“It’s okay” she managed to find her voice, “it’s okay, you just came back to yourself, it’s okay”.

It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay please let her believe it, it’s okay

“I think…” he breathes in and out laboriously, mouth gaping as he rushes his brain to full activity. “I think everything within me is functioning… I’m just… this miraculous...” He finishes, trying to unsuccessfully chuckle to lighten the situation.

Marinette covers her mouth to stifle the sob, grateful for Chat’s attention on Plagg, who’s quietly explaining to him what’s happened over the last 48 hours. She’s trying to be smaller, to reduce in the space her body is occupying, mouth twisted in the exhale contracting her chest. Tikki is behind her, gently pawing at her exposed neck.

She’s hurting. The first thing he did was ask for Ladybug, then reassure Plagg; selfless, charming, stupid Chat, she’s hurting he’s alive. Fear washes over her again with such intensity she can’t hide the pitched, tight cry, and then it abandons her; she’s got nothing to cling onto but utter exhaustion. Her chest is heaving without tears. The ocean’s abandoned her too.

(empty. her heart isn’t drowning anymore. empty)

“Marinette…?” He squeezes her fingers and the effort of bringing her hand to his lips to leave a light kiss on her knuckles makes him tremble slightly. “What’s… wrong…?”

She makes the same pained noise at his gesture, and then manages an: “I’m relieved you’re okay”, even though she means _you died on me, you might still die, i lost you, i lost you, i lost you._ She keeps trying to hold the sobbing to speak: “Plagg said your… father would get... in the way of Chat Noir if you were found at the hospital so… I hoped the best decision was keeping you... here”.

“Here”, he noted, then checked on their surroundings again, hand still firmly entwined with the girl.

“We’re in the attic of an abandoned house... in the suburb of the city.”

There is a silence, and then, as a thought crosses his mind he grimaces.

“Where’s Ladybug?”

Then, again, she finds herself replying:

I don’t know.

 

If she repeats it enough times, maybe she’ll end up believing it.

This silence is longer, and heavier. Disappointment settles in, Chat’s gaze avoids her. Marinette can’t bring herself to cry.

((Maybe this way it’s better))

“Do you think you can eat?” She murmurs after so long her own voice sounds strange in the room.

“I should go home” is what he answers, trying to get up. This time he manages to sit. His face is just _so pale_ Marinette fears he will faint. “I was staying at a friend’s house… he must… be worried I didn’t… even answer my phone…”

“I got an USB you can plug into my laptop to charge your phone? I’ll go down to buy something. Maybe… you can… rest here… tonight? You should go see a doctor, Chat…”

He’s still avoiding her eyes, as if trying to not give away how he feels, though she can tell by the way his shoulders are slumping. Even if the mask conceals most of their expressions, Chat’s body has always been  a language on its own.

His voice is a broken whisper when he asks _will you stay_

And Marinette’s hasn’t been as unwavering in the last days: **_I’m here_ _._**

 

 

* * *

 

 

Marinette finds out the city is more overwhelming than ever. The vibration of the noise buzzes deep in her stomach, she can’t breathe. She wants to run, run, run, back to the abandoned house, back to Chat, _back in time._ The only thing she can do, however, is fill the shopping basket, avoid the cashier’s inquisitive eyes upon seeing her for second time that day, and think, think, think, of her hero’s quiet voice asking her to stay, and how she promised

_I won’t leave,_

and already broke it.

Maybe,

she can’t be with him as Ladybug,

but can as Marinette.

Common, ordinary, meaningless, clumsy and unconfident Marinette, holding the brightest hope of Paris and pleading for it put up with the way her fingers are shaking.

She sighs in relief when she’s back in the old house, and the silence is welcoming. Silence broken by her phone dialling Nino’s number:

“I know _somethin_ ’s up” Marinette sucks in a breath to which Nino lets out a _gotcha._ She squeezes her eyes shut for a very long moment.

“I just can’t tell, Nino”.

“I got that far. Alya’s doing okay. She was sad when you bugged out but knows shit’s going down on your end. You’ll have to make it up to her, tho, don’t wanna be in the crossfire”.

Silence. Marinette swallows thick. She can’t say I’m sorry again, because it doesn’t mean anything anymore. Yet _she’s so sorry._

“I will surely stay longer with her tomorrow. I need to ask you a big one”.

“Shoot”.

“I’m supposedly crashing at your house tonight”.

“Out of the blue?”

“I’m devastated, you are devastated, we’re gonna watch Pushing Daisies until you throw up in your bowl of popcorn”.

There is a new silence in the line. Nino seems to be mulling over something for a few seconds before he dares to speak:

“Mari, is Adrien okay? Are you with him?”

“What? _Adrien?_ Is he okay _,_ Nino _?_ ”

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“No! Why would I hide it from you if I was with Adrien?”

“I don’t know, man, sex?”

“ _What?_ ” Marinette’s voice sounds so genuinely incredulous Nino doesn’t keep pushing. He sighs.

“I’m helping you, Mari, but fix it, fast. Alya needs you. And… I really don’t like how you looked yesterday”.

She tries to amend the situation with a cautious, forced chuckle that doesn’t make it for Nino. He lets it slide, though, and wishes her a good night before hanging up. She texts her parents next, not trusting her voice to keep up with the lying, even though she, theoretically, _is staying with a friend._ Sabine replies immediately. _Alya will be okay, I’m glad you and Nino are going through this together,_ she can still read in the screen by the time she reaches the attic. _If it was only Alya._

Chat is curled up on the towel, facing the small window in the furthest wall of the room, with his back turned to her. He’s tall, but he doesn’t look so as the space around him seems to grow bigger and heavier by moments.

“Hey”, she lets out, breathy. No reply. “I got some tea, and some bread we can have with butter and jam. These are the most harmless meals I could think of”.

Chat still doesn’t talk, doesn’t move.

Marinette scoots closer, until her knees are almost touching his back and reaches out with a trembling hand. When there is no rejection, carefully, quietly, ghostly, slides her fingers in small circles over his shoulder. It seems to work, as Chat’s posture releases part of its tension.

 _You came back,_ he murmurs, and it’s _strange,_ like he almost doesn’t dare to believe it, thank you.

Marinette hurts.

“Sometimes…” she inhales, deeply, “sometimes when I see you on Alya’s recordings saving Paris, I always wonder, _who will save the savior?_ ” The girl fakes a faint chuckle, setting two cups of plastic on the floor and filling them up with water. She’s chosen ginger tea for her stomach, and valerian tea for him. “Who would’ve said it’s ordinary Marinette finding Chat Noir and going to the rescue of such pretty miss in distress”.

Chat turns his face to look at her, eyes open in earnest... and confusion, and uncertainty, and sad, and pain, and Marinette has to clench her fists to stop herself from cupping his face and thumbing his eyelids, as to erase it all. She’s expecting him to laugh, to mock her, to ignore her, but certainly not him to say

 

_you’re everything but ordinary_

 

with such conviction she’s grateful she hasn’t done her hair today, so it shields her expression.

At the lack of response, Chat ventures, quieter:

“You were really crying (the unheard _for me_ ) Plagg said you stayed by my side for these two days… You don’t even know who I am…”

“The hero who saves Paris” she replies, firm, still hiding behind the curtain of black hair. “The guy who saved me repeatedly. The person who needed my help”.

 

A heavy, deafening silence.

 

“Marinette.

 

Alya _was there_.”

 

“She’s at the hospital. She has her family, and Nino. She’s not alone”. She wants to pry and add _you aren’t either,_ but Chat’s eyes are telling otherwise. Marinette tightens her mouth, looks down and tries to spread the butter on the bread with the plastic knife, resolute to ignore the way her hands are trembling as if they were made of train tracks.

“Will you go to the hospital once the night’s over?” The pause between them extended to almost half an hour. Chat barely ate, albeit he did drink the tea. Now he’s lying down again, curled up, and Marinette is dying to scoot closer and bury her face between his shoulderblades, where it belongs. _Where she belongs._

and it’s a sad thought, because then she’d be _on his back,_

(not like she’s never been anything but a dead weight on his shoulders),

_part of this world he has to carry on his own_

_now that Marinette Has Decided_

he can hold the sky

_alone_

_(he’s a titan)_

 

He doesn’t reply. There is this fear eating her, eating her _alive,_ this fear she can’t scratch out when she clears her throat, or braces herself, or tries drinking more tea, or focuses in the outline of Chat’s figure, this fear of _losing him,_ of telling Tikki, of visiting Alya, of turning her back on Paris, of her own decisions, _of herself._ The way the silence hangs between them talks of shared monsters. Marinette nestles next to his side, careful of not touching him but letting him know she’s there, and does what she’s always done when she was little and scared of the silence in her room:

“[ _I will keep my steps small, because those who wander behind me have short legs_ ] . Do you happen to know _La Reine des neiges_? It’s a tale by Hans Christian Andersen. It starts like…

 

[PREMIERE HISTOIRE: QUI TRAITE D’UN MIROIR ET DE SES MORCEAUX]

_Voilà! Nous commençons. Lorsque nous serons à la fin de l’histoire, nous en saurons plus que maintenant, car c’était un bien méchant sorcier, un des plus mauvais, le “diable” en personne. Un jour il étati de fort bonne humeur: il avait fabriqué un miroir dont la particularité était que le Bien et le Beau en sé réfléchissant en lui se réduisaient à presque rien, mais que tout ce qui ne valait rien, tout ce qui était mauvais, apparaissait nettement et empirait encore..._

 

 

* * *

  
  
  


 

 

There is a statement of underlying faith in the way they fall asleep, absolutely vulnerable and exposed, facing each other, curled in the gravity of the other, nose buried in blonde hair, forehead resting on pale collarbones, Marinette’s body contorting around him like the curvature of a shield, Chat’s expression peacefully quiet, as if he could sense this is Ladybug, and he’s safe. Except that she’s only Marinette, and he’s no longer safe.

Plagg is pressed against the boy’s back right where his heart is beating slow and steady, quietly mumbling with Tikki. The red kwami’s eyes are bright in the dark, a low burning signal fire, difficult to look away from.

They find solace, and comfort, in the presence of the other. This is the first time they’re together in this century, this is the first time they’re together in _this_ Ladybug and Chat Noir’s life. Seeing Tikki upon milleniums somewhat still holds onto a feel of novelty to him, even if this is just her, and _her_ is familiar territory. He doesn’t hesitate in opening up, he’s afraid,

“afraid of how this will affect your girl”.

Tikki’s antennas are down, she’s slowly rubbing her paws together, more out of habit than necessity. Nevertheless the night is cold, there is this annoying cold breeze playing with his whiskers every so often.

“I think she already made her choice”.

Plagg doesn’t hold back a frustrated sigh. He doesn’t want to upset Tikki further, but he’s not up to shut his thoughts.

“I never thought I’d see a time in which you’re ought to deal with the impulsive one, sweeting”. He mumbles the appellative without even realizing it, centuries of use on his back. Tikki’s antenna vibrates in response, ever so slightly.

“Adrien is well served in stubbornness and recklessly”.  

“... Fair enough. I guess they are two peas in a pod”.

Tikki scoots closer to him, probably also feeling the increasing dropping temperature; Plagg welcomes her. It was so, so long since the last time they allowed themselves to be close that Plagg can’t recall how Tikki’s small body shapes perfectly him, because they are also _part of a whole_. Hard to remember, when you’re left with the bad side of the story.

“I’m _very sorry_ about Adrien, Plagg”.

That little paw is over his for a brief second, he finds himself resentful when there’s only cold air afterwards.

“It doesn’t matter in what life, in which era, he always launches himself to take the blow. I stopped counting how many I lost in Middle Age”.

The confession doesn’t lighten his chest. It can’t, because it’s the truth. He’s cold, he’s darkness, he’s misery, ambition, sadness, void, destruction, bad luck. He’s everything rotten. He’s a _plague._

“The Chat Noirs you’ve been commended with always had the kindest, most generous of the hearts. Adrien didn’t hesitate when he jumped in front of the akuma... that’s something to be proud of”.

Plagg’s gaze is firm, unwavering and _terrible._ It’s fierce in such an unnatural way it prickles at Tikki’s skin.

“I am”, holding onto the silent statement: _I always was._ His kid is brave, generous, genuine, has a heart full of good to do and give, _has a whole life ahead of him._ Plagg’s never been more grateful for risking his own existence in favor of having the possibility of seeing something so small, delicate and futile, as human life is, bloom.

“You know…” Tikki’s voice comes very small, like a secret, “he’s probably so willing to sacrifice everything because you’re also like this…”

But this is a story he doesn’t want to hear; this is the first time he’s _really_ risked everything he is to save a Chat Noir: not something to be called brave for. He says, instead:

“Adrien doesn’t stand a chance against Hawkmoth without your girl”.

“I know… but they are the youngest charges we ever had. They have plenty of time to make mistakes and learn from them. There are some things we can’t rush, even if we are betting the world’s safety on this choice”.

“It’s not only the world’s safety”, Plagg mumbles, as if he cared about this world or any other. Earth is to him like ground is to an ant: something he so fully knows he doesn’t need to be aware of anymore. Tikki’s always the one falling in love with what this planet has to offer, it’s her faith in humanity speaking for her when she adds:

“Marinette needs time to heal and forgive herself. She will eventually choose to be Ladybug. This time on her own”.

“At what risk? I’m not willing to let a 17 year old girl play with Adrien’s life because she’s throwing a tantrum. There is no time to dwell on self-pity”.

“Don’t be so harsh”, but there’s no accusation in her voice. 

“As if”, he snarls, though he relaxes the following second. Tikki’s still pressed against him, building a source of heat in the negative space of their bodies, rather soothing than the discomfort he would have felt otherwise. He’s never up for touches and rubs, not from Adrien, not from anyone. He, actually, likes his routine: eat, sleep. Sleep, eat. Period.

It took him exactly four centuries to find the button to switch off _hurting._ No more caring, no more pain. His life is easy like this, devoted to cheese and laziness, contemplating the hurried life of his holders as years go by, not bothering in directly getting involved with them. Why? What’s the point? He’s never willed to listen to Tikki lecture him about his coping mechanisms, and he definitely is not now:

“There’s much more you can do for Adrien than just sleep around. Maybe a break would be good for both of them. Marinette might have lost her confidence, but Adrien lost Ladybug. There is more to a hero than following and worshipping the figure of your partner”.

“Go tell Hawkmoth that” Plagg snaps, gaze lifting up to the window. Tikki, ever the positive one:

“Maybe this time we will have a little of _good luck._ ”

He looks at her, partially shocked, partially amused. Tikki is beaming:

 

“We will find a way through this. If not,

 _we will create one_.”

 

 

Around two hours later, Chat stirs. His body is aching, but he ignores it in favor of blinking his eyes open and finding his face buried in Marinette’s chest. She smells comforting, her heartbeat thrums so loud it deafens the persistent palpitation of his pain. The only reason he moves seventeen minutes later is so he can look at her face.

Tikki fell asleep on Plagg. It’s a foreign feeling, this one of unwanted, yet welcomed intimacy. He’s thoroughly opposed to the kwami’s decision, but he knows better than to risk their trust by betraying Ladybug’s secret. He holds Tikki and floats quietly, far from Chat’s field of vision, even though he’s too busy committing to memory Marinette’s features; hides her in the girl’s bag and hovers over the scene. The way the hero’s eyes are perched on her face with such intense gratitude, makes an intruder of him. So Plagg turns his back on them and settles on the windowsill, every so often sneaking a glance over his shoulder. It’s always been like this, hasn’t it? Tikki is the one looking forward to the new Ladybugs, Plagg is the one looking over his shoulder to the Chats he’s leaving behind. He supposes this way they balance too: positivity and negativity.

One hour into sunrise and Chat made his way to him. They’re quiet for a while, the boy’s calmer than ever. It’s so odd it upsets the kwami’s stomach.

“If father finds out…”

“You can pay a leech on your own. If your father asks for the expense of money you can say it was a present for Nino”.

“A present of probably over 200 euros? Assuming by leech you mean doctor”.

His teasing tone isn’t quite back, but that’s definitely _better._ Plagg looks up:

“I sometimes forget you’re still a dandiprat.”

Chat _almost_ rolls his eyes. To the silent question in the kwami’s face, he sneaks a final glance back at Marinette, and mumbles _claws out._

 

* * *

 

 

 

Marinette is not surprised when she awakens, but saying she’s worried would be an understatement. She has no way of finding Chat unless he comes to her. Her silent plea during the morning is for him _(as it has been for the past days)_.

“Marinette…”

“I’m going home now” is what she replies instead to the unsaid _are you okay_. “He’s made to hold the whole sky, he’ll do fine”.

A pause. Her walking is very slow, dragged steps down the street. She’s hoping for a corner in which she can curl up and hide from the world.

“Are you ready?” _Ready for?_ Come back home? Ignore the silent questions and worries of her parents? Find endless excuses for Alya? Ignore the weight on her shoulders? Ignore her own identity, her burden, her secret, her duty? Ready for giving up Chat Noir?

No, she is not ready for any of that.

Yet when she walks in the bakery she’s flashing her most practiced smile, fake energy coming out of her mouth as: _Alya is doing better today!_ _I’ll come back after lunch! I’m bringing my laptop so we can watch Blindspot together!_

“I sometimes don’t really get what’s the purpose of those thriller TV shows… or why you like it so much”.

“Oh c’mon papa! Blindspot has nothing to do with Stranger Things! It’s kind of a police tv show… maman and you might enjoy it if you could give it a chance, _chicken._ Alya’s very good at figuring out the plot”

“Doesn’t that, like, _miss the point of watching a thriller?_ ” Tom objects, thick eyebrows raised high. Marinette fakes a lighthearted laugh.

“You get used to it after the first two times- Anyways! The night with Nino was long, we talked a lot. He’s got it rougher, I think… I tried to reassure him all night, I’m exhausted. I’ll go sleep upstairs until lunch”.

“Marinette, my love”, if she thought she could avoid Sabine, she was proven wrong. Marinette freezes for a few seconds, inhales deeply, composes her best inexpressive face and turns to her progenitor. Sabine studies her for long moments. “Do you want to skip school tomorrow?”

“What?”

“Dad and I have been talking and… maybe Nino’s got it rough but Alya’s your closest friend. We can tell it’s taking a toll on you, maybe a day of rest would be okay? Your grades are good enough, if you wanted to skip the whole week I know you’ll work hard to make up for it…”

“That’s beyond the point, mom. I have to take notes for Alya too. She’s going to be absent from school more than a week, and this is our last year. I can’t miss any classes”.

Sabine’s utterly unconvinced, but Marinette has never been more grateful that her mother trusts so much her daughter’s judgment.

“I’m okay”, she lies, carefully, and pulls at her cheeks to force a smile. “Only tired. Nino got sappy and melancholic, we ended up crying a lot”.

Sabine doesn’t pry further, and Marinette sighs in relief when she closes the door of her bedroom. There is an odd feeling of misplacement when she takes in her room. It’s the same as it has always been: her old computer, her disarranged desk, the last two dresses she was working on scattered on the floor, the overflowing pink, photographies of the last years, newspaper trimmings, still some posters of her classmate.

Everything feels so meaningless now. What’s so important about this room that she called it _home,_ was she supposed to feel safe here?

Marinette flops on the bed, buries her face in this pillow that so much smells like her flowery shampoo and tries to ignore the sensation of unreality twisting the pit of her stomach.

It takes exactly eight minutes and twenty three seconds for reality to crash on her so painful her insides jolt, triggering a run to the bathroom. Marinette’s whole being is waving exhaustion and burnt in stinging dry heaving, leaving her throat raw and her torso aching, as if her ribs were on the verge of breaking.

From here on in  the following days, she has never been so sick, so weak, so _scared_ of her own body. Every day she gets on her feet to walk to the school she wonders how her knees don’t give up, but, _oh,_ right, not like there’s much weight to support anymore. Still, Marinette gets up, makes her way to school, sits in the second row and barely notices the hours going by before the day is over; she gives up on eating and walks directly to the hospital. The lunch break is short, but not short enough as to not pretend for Alya everything is alright, there is plenty of homework to deal with. Her friend whines, unamused, and it’s in those times when the smile that slips might be a real one, even if a ghost of what it used to be. In the afternoons, after classes, Nino is more often than not with to Alya. He has managed to bring one of his gaming devices and, albeit the redhead is not so fond of smashing the controller's buttons, she had had plenty of time to learn to enjoy leveling up characters and _wining._ It feels good, she says one of the days of that week, it feels like I might be doing something important instead of being here, useless.

 _Useless_ is not a new word in Marinette’s vocabulary, but it holds a different meaning to it now. Useless is how her body feels, useless is how she feels, breaking apart in her own sickness, covering the cracks inside herself with bandaids. _It was to work,_ she repeats to herself like a mantra, _it has to work, I’m strong, I did worse, it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay,_

but it’s not.

By Friday she’s made a routine out of anchoring herself to the toilette at nights, forcing the smallest of the sips of water every few minutes down, commanding her stomach to take it, some of the hours crying because of the burn of her whole being, the misery, the humiliation, the weakness, the fear, the exhaustion.

She doesn’t say I’m sick,

because she’s not allowed to.

This is not about her. This is not about her. This is not about her. This is not about her. This is n

Marinette’s running on less than three hours of sleep every day: when her body collapses and she passes out on the bathroom floor, her clouded mind drifting among memories of Chat Noir and her worry for him, _the endless worry for him_ : is he okay?  _Is he okay? Is he okay?_

Then, lower, (i need him, i need him, i need him).

She doesn’t recognize it, so she ignores the persistent, growing, aching desperation that clutches at her insides and makes her dry heave, because needing Chat is another thing she’s not allowed to.

This is not about her. This is not about her. This is not ab

“Marinette, please, eat the soup”.

“Yes”, she lifts her face and coerces the smile, something she’s mastered by the time being, “it’s tasty, I really like it, thank you maman”.

“I didn’t see you eating”.

“Oh, I’m worried about the upcoming finals and Alya”.

“Making yourself sick over things you can’t change will only be hurting you”.

“I know, I’m okay? I’m eating now”. With the biggest of the apprehensions, she holds her breath and shoves the spoon in her mouth, one, two, three times. Her stomach starts to burn immediately, rejecting the food, and she has to hide her face behind her hand for a few seconds until she’s sure she can pull out a poker face. It won’t last long in her stomach, Marinette hurries to finish the meal, leaves the dish in the counter, voices a quiet _I’m going to sleep, I’m tired,_ before making her way to the bathroom, legs wobbling and arm bracing her waist, _please give me a rest, please just one day, please let me keep it, please._

Marinette doesn’t want Tikki to see her like this.

Marinette doesn’t want anyone to see her like this. She’s supposed to be strong. In control. She’s not the one who is sick, Alya is. Chat is. _Chat._ Chat Chat Chat Chat Chat Chat

Her thoughts are so crowded with noise, she almost bumps into someone. Or rather, _someone bumps into her._ Marinette glances down, slowly, her mind is shut for the first time in the last week.

“I’m sorry” the person babblers, letting her step into their classroom. It takes even longer to realize this is Rose, and she is looking at her now with concern. “Marinette is everything okay…?”

“Yes, just mid-term worries” it’s the automatic lie.

“Not enough sleep, eh?” Rose chuckles and she joins, quite out of tune.

“Guess everyone’s got it tight for this one”.

“I never saw Nino whining at anything louder than at the lack of energetic drinks in our vendings”.

 _Nino._ She hasn’t asked Nino how he’s really dealing with Alya being at the hospital. She probably doesn’t need to, given how he drags his steps along the corridor, his bag hanging loose on defeated shoulders and eyes talking about nightmares.

Marinette feels horrible.

Marinette feels _horrible._

The girl swallows down the sudden access of nausea, and sits next to Nino in the front row. He’s starting with, _you finally sh_ and cuts short when Marinette is the one greeting him instead. They haven’t really talked since Marinette’s call past weekend. Sure, they share the afternoons and lunches with Alya, but it’s not like they trade more than a few sentences. Her façade is not good enough to persuade her friends, but it’s resistant enough to be masked with vague justifications ( _too much work at the bakery, mom’s being quite overwhelming, I think I got something, jeez can you even focus on studying? I feel like it doesn’t matter how many hours I’m at it I can’t reten anything, I’m volunteering for social work to fix the akuma’s mess…)._ Close talk with Nino is another entire thing.

Before Marinette runs out of cover, she blurts out:

“ _How are you?”_

 _“_ Really? _Now,_ Mari?”

“This is a free hour study, right?”

“ _Free hour study”_

“Don’t dodge me”

“Like, maybe, possibly, what you have been for this past week?” Marinette grimaces. Point taken. She can carry on.

“I’ll bite the bullet if you go first”.

Nino squints at her, suspicious, but gives in not long after.

“I dunno how I could possibly feel? When I slack off for a sec to consider all of this bivlit I just feel _selfish_ ”.

“I can relate” her voice is small, as small as she feels.

“ _Wicked_ ”. Nino nudges her shoulder playfully, to enlighten the mood. “This is a Big Fuck Up. I guess anyone in our position would feel messed up?”

Marinette doesn’t want to say she disagrees, Nino just _can’t be selfish_ he literally spends _his whole day with Alya._ That also means he’s not studying at all in favor of entertaining her.

Her stomach bolts. She swallows. Blinks. Inhales. She’s not going to throw up again, she’s not going to throw up again, she’s not going to throw up again,

she has to be better she has to be better she has to be there for Alya she has to be a better friend she’s so _horrible,_ Chat,

_chat chat chat chat chat_

“What’s the thing about Adrien?”

“Ah”. Nino rolls his eyes and slumps in his seat. “He got a girlfriend. Didn’t you notice he’s played hooky the whole week? Bet they’re at it like rabbits… leebo”.

Marinette only happens to mutter _oh._

Indeed, she didn’t realize Adrien skipped school for the whole week.

“That’s… unlike him”, she offers, albeit she knows nothing about Adrien. The only thing she got from him was a crushed heart, and it was only when Marinette realized she’d been worshipping an ideal. It didn’t even involve him, directly.

“He’s a boy whose dick got a hole to get stuck in, what’s new?”

She doesn’t know what to say, so she remains quiet instead, grateful that her mind is not swallowing her again, if even for a few, brief moments. Nino’s always a surface of warmth, really welcome given the chill biting at them coming through the open windows.

“No one would say it’s April”.

“Spring always comes in late” is what Marinette replies, recalling a green that has nothing to do with spring. And, as if sensing her deep grief, the sky howls over their heads and cracks horribly, rain barking against the windows.

“ _Man”,_ Nino complains, stretching out his legs. “Cut us some slack here”.

  
When Marinette scurries home she doesn’t remember she’s supposed to need  an umbrella . 

**Author's Note:**

> !!!! Thank you for making it to the end of this monster chapter!! This started off as something less ambitious as it developed, and definitely not with the purpose of bringing the angsts...!!! Oh!!!! I'd like to say some things about the skeleton of the story!!! I feel like Plagg is really an undervalued character in the series. They got for him just being lazy and eating cheese? So I really was excite to think of Plagg as the one always dealing with the bad side of the story. Loyalty and nobility are in the first line of fire. It kind of made sense he would be anchored in the past no matter what, because despite his cynicism towards life, it's hard not to be dragged by the lively, bright, and somewhat naÏve Adrien Agreste. (Also it was really funny to portray this /i'm always looking backwards/ in his speech. He can't get rid off those past-century mannerisms in his speaking. Not like he cares much, anyway, and teasing Adrien with words he doesn't know it's Major Entertainment). // In the same way I found interesting to try giving Nino some kind of slang speech? Though I'm not a native English speaker, so all of this is been a struggle for me and if I wrote something wrong somewhere please let me know!!  
>  I portrayed Alya with some spanish blood in her (that's why her mother uses spanish expressions)? She rings spanish to me in so many ways I just really love this headcanon.  
> Finally, albeit I'm not really down for angst for the sake of angst, I do feel like I have to apologize for the rawness of Marinette's condition. Our organism has visceral ways of telling us we have some shitty issues in our mind we aren't able to confront. (But! I always focus everything I write on healing, and coping with mental/emotional issues, so please bear with the angst a little bit more / crawls under desk)  
> ((Oh, I almost forgot!! I write in experimental narrative, so I use a lot of different font sizes! Ao3 doesn't allow to change the font size in any possible way, so the parts I wrote in verdana 12 instead of my usual verdana 9 go in /bold/, and the parts that should be in smaller size, verdana 7, as if it was a whisper, are aligned to the right. I'm very sorry for this I wish there was a way to format it in the way I write it..!!!))


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